


Found

by SoWrongButSoWrite (CinnaStarks)



Series: Metamorphosis [1]
Category: Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Blood, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:34:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaStarks/pseuds/SoWrongButSoWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past and the present finally meet as a new threat trickles into the Mojave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was only one person in the Mojave that Arcade would have left with at two in the morning, and Boone wasn’t her. In fact, he was probably the last person in his found family that the doctor should have wanted to follow into the pitch dark Wasteland. But he had.

“This place is as peaceful as it’s gonna get.” The sniper had said, barely visible through Arcade’s bleary eyes. “If there was any time to find what Six lost, it’s now.” Her name rang like an alarm in his head, loud enough to push any thoughts of going back to sleep out. Within seconds, he was up and pulling on the articles he could get his hands on. It had only been after he’d holstered his plasma defender that Arcade spoke up.

“Cass was too hung over, I’m guessing?” He asked, only half-joking. “Or did my scholarly charm finally win you over?”

Beady eyes glared at him, but the coldness Arcade usually found in them was absent. In their place was a mix of exhaustion and, from the way Boone shifted his weight, restlessness. “The only reason Six didn’t run from your request to get the Remnants back together was your relationship with her.” His usual monotone hitched in places. “You and I both heard her talking in her sleep on the night after they agreed to help us out.”

It had been a night that Arcade resented Boone for bringing back memories of. Six had seemed so supportive of him up until then and, even afterwards, she had refused to talk about it. Not in public, at least, but that hadn’t stopped Arcade from hearing her tearful confession about it to the very man who had dragged him out of bed that morning. Six remembered the nightmare only vaguely, but it was enough. People had been murdered by Enclave soldiers clad in power armor. It had happened all over the country and it should not have surprised Arcade that she had witnessed a massacre of their own doing, but his own protectiveness of her had blinded him. “Contrary to popular belief, the Enclave doesn’t record the names of every person it has screwed over.”

“Yeah, but-“ Boone dug through his pack for a second before producing a familiar, leather-bound book; Six’s journal. “-there has to be some connection that we can make using whatever information your Remnants have with the bits and pieces that she’s remembered.”

“So you’re sneaking out of your lover’s bed in the middle of the night and invading her privacy?” Against his better judgment, Arcade started for the door. “And here I thought chivalry was dead.” He took one of his cleaner lab coats off the rack and in one swift motion, pulled it over his usual button up.  Like a suit of armor, the coat put him back into the mindset of someone who spent his days fighting tooth and nail for an independent New Vegas; a survivor.

Behind him, the sniper huffed. “Sarcasm isn’t going to help us find answers any faster, Doc.”

“Of course it’s not.” Arcade’s eyes fell back to Six’s journal. “Let’s get going.”

For the next four hours, his world would be silent and blue with the Cateye working its way through his system. There was one direct route to the bunker, a pre-war road that sliced through the terrain, but it ran past Vault 22. Even Boone, with his ability to take down everything short of a Cazador, knew that it was a death sentence to stumble through at that hour. Coming home to a worried and possibly furious Six was better than not seeing it again. Going around was their only option, albeit a boring one. Coyote silhouettes glanced upon the horizon every once in a while, their howls providing a break in the monotony.

The sun’s rays were barely visible in Arcade’s periphery when his companion’s voice pierced the silence. “You didn’t have to agree to this.” Boone said, a twinge of regret tinting the vowel sounds. “I heard Six-“

Arcade kept his eyes focused on the horizon. His companion may have had his on the cracked, pre-war road below, but he wasn’t going to stoop to that level. “ _-saw_ Six.” He corrected. “If you’re crude enough to make fun of my intelligence, practice what you preach.” It was almost funny, the way Boone kicked up a cloud of dust in reaction. There wasn’t much to kick up in the first place, but he had managed to create one.

“Fine. I woke up to another one of her nightmares.” He explained. “I held her, she calmed down, and then I left.” Boone paused as if he was waiting for a remark that would never form and, for a moment, Arcade saw what he could have been before Bitter Springs. Since the dam, those moments had become more frequent. When Six was around, they could last minu-

Shadows appeared on the horizon. Two men, clad in what appeared to be no armor, walked at a steady pace towards them. “Pre-war rags.” Boone said. “Usually I’d guess it was a caravan, but there’s no Brahmin in sight.” Though his voice was steady, the sniper had reached behind his back to touch his weapon of choice. “Couriers don’t travel in pairs.”

Laughter echoed across the Wasteland. On Arcade’s ears, it was like a Fiend’s but much worse. Each cackle was as clear as a new pair of glasses, cold but untarnished. These people didn’t need drugs to be wicked.

“Armed.” Arcade added, forcing himself to relax even if instinct told him otherwise. The devices strapped to their waists were clunky, almost the size of their heads. “With what, though?”

“Couldn’t tell you.”

The sun was bright enough to give Arcade a chance to make eye contact with them.

One blinked. The other grinned. Both raised their guns.

Arcade didn’t have a moment to breathe before his world became a painless blue haze, and then something else entirely. Seeing red was a familiar concept to him, but he had never experienced it like this. In an instant, everything that had ever angered Arcade Gannon came back to the forefront of his mind. Every innocent victim he couldn’t save screamed into his ear and, in response, he screamed back. Knuckles went white around the handle of his ripper. One of his assailants’ lips moved as if to shout, but it fell on deaf ears. Arcade charged. He did not know these men. He did not know their names. He just wanted their blood to spill. For once, there was no rhyme or reason, only madness drove him.

When blackness finally replaced the red, both of their attackers had been reduced to piles of flesh.

Arcade fell through blackness until reality found a suitably hard enough surface for him to land on. The fire that had engulfed his mind was gone and, in its place, a halo of pain. Blindly, he felt the dirt for his pair of glasses. Wherever he was, Arcade had to make sure that he could see it clearly. It was a habit that Cass targeted whenever she couldn’t find better joke material and, to a certain extent, Arcade agreed that it was a little ridiculous in potentially dangerous situations.

“I wouldn’t.” Boone rasped over what sounded and, upon further analysis of Arcade’s surroundings, _felt_ like a campfire.  “We’ve seen Fiends with less blood on their skin .”

He could only groan in response. Glasses weren’t necessary to know that his fingers were coated in blood and the why was vivid in the forefront of his consciousness. If Boone was alive, Arcade figured he was okay for a moment. “What happened?” It had been rhetorical only until he remembered their reason for even being outside of the Strip. Six trusted both men, but neither of them would be able to keep quiet about the new weapons for long. On top of Legion threats and less than satisfied citizens of the Republic, she didn’t need a new burden to carry. None of them did.

“Don’t know.” Boone said. “It turned you into a maniac and me into a god damned lobotomy patient. Our ‘savior’ shot us both up with tranquilizer and now-“

“-now you’re okay, buddy.” A new, unfamiliar voice added. Although slight, the way that the earth shook beneath Arcade’s head as its source sat down was noticeable enough to send another pulse of dull pain through his throbbing skull. “I’m guessing Sleeping Beauty over here is awake?”

Against his body’s protests, Arcade pushed himself up to a sitting position. He squinted in a feeble attempt to size up their new companion, who met eyes with him before picking what appeared to be his lenses from the dust. “Thank you.” They weren’t broken. Scuffed, but clear enough to see the man who has supposedly saved them both.

“You haven’t punched me yet, like every other sap I save from those fuckers-“ Cracked lips stretched across a face that had been tanned beyond the point of no return. The brahmin standing a few yards behind him groaned. “-so I think I’m the one who should be thanking you.” As worn as his body looked, Arcade couldn’t help but notice a familiar spark in his eyes. He was young, his voice told him that much, but the scars that dashed his hands were those of someone who had seen too many years of violence.

Boone wasn’t fazed. “There’s more of those things?”

“Dozens.” The other man matched his monotony. “They’re pre-war machines invented to be a non-violent way to pacify folks. Like everything else, someone with the wrong idea got their hands on one and thought that it would work well with the addition of an explosive collar.” Arcade glanced at his friend to see if he, too, had put two and two together. He had. “Eventually, someone began to mass produce them.”

The pain that had once plagued his head had been replaced by an intense need to know more. “Doesn't explain what happened to me.” Arcade said.

Gecko meat sizzled as the stranger set it on the grill above their campfire. "Only sixty percent of those shot actually become slaves. The rest either become temporary maniacs or, on the rare occasion, live only long enough to feel their heads explode." He grimaced. "It used to be more common, but the woman who had the bright idea to mass produce 'em is the second best scientist to ever set foot in that hell hole I used to call home."

"How long have you been trying to combat it?" The curious tone of Boone's voice was new to Arcade. If only he had taken his aviators off, maybe the doctor would have been able to read his sudden interest better. That, and the fact that he was doing a lazy job of hiding his interest by idly digging through his open rucksack.

“Five years.” His youth had disappeared. “Started in my home, around the former U.S Capital, and has been spreading since. An old friend came up with a tranquilizer that eliminated the gun’s lasting effects, but I’m just a mook with a pack Brahmin. ”

Boone grunted, still searching. “If you wanted to stop it in its tracks, I’d suggest you go-“

“-southeast of here, yeah.” The stranger spat in the fire. “But one man can’t takedown an entire army, so I’ve been travelling around their borders looking for allies. Unfortunately, they’ve all been too busy worrying about this Hoover Dam brahmin shit to pay mass enslavement a second of their time." He sighed. "Fellas like you probably have more important things on your mind if you're crazy enough to be travelling at this hour." Dark eyes travelled from Arcade to Boone. "Forbidden love?"

"No." Boone had answered before his companion had a chance to even process it. "We're out here because of a woman and that's all someone like you needs to know."

The stranger leaned back onto his elbows and smirked. "Femme fatale leading you on? Are you guys going to fight to the death for her affection?" Arcade opened his mouth to speak, but no words could come out before the stranger cackled. "Just sayin', I'd put all my bets on tall, blonde and handsome over here."

"Excu-"

"I said, there's nothing more you need to know." There was a small thump as the sack hit the ground. Boone's shoulders hunched over, like an animal ready to pounce. "Got it?"

In reaction, the stranger mirrored his movements. "You don't seem too grateful that I saved your ass from being ripped apart by doc over there." In the corner of his eye, Arcade saw his left hand move to the same side's boot. "Almost as if there's something you think would-"

"We're going back to my fascist roots to help cure our friend's amnesia."

The hand in question fell. His jaw relaxed. "You're what?" Coherence mixed with a sputtered curse from Boone, who had been close to pulling out his own machete.

Arcade folded his arms around his chest. "Our friend was shot in the head before we even met. Forgot a good chunk of her past and, since she screams my former organization in her sleep on a nightly basis, I thought that it would be good to start there." He said, doing his best to act cold despite feeling the very opposite. "If you haven't guessed already, that organization would be-"

"-The Enclave." He pulled at his duster in a failed attempt to hide how pale his face had become. "They ruled the Capital Wasteland for a damn long time. Ruined my best friend's life in under a minute." The stranger sighed. "But, you said former and I'm going to believe you. It's not like I haven't been desperate in my own little side quest for answers."

Though inappropriate for their situation, Arcade felt his lips forming a slight smile. "Let's make a deal, then." He said. "We'll tell you more about our quest if you tell us more about yours."

"Arcade-"

"We’re all fatigued in some way or another." Even in the heat of Boone's glare, he kept his eyes trained on the stranger. “Exchanging stories seems like a better compromise than killing each other.”

For a time only the sun could measure properly, there was a silence so heavy that the fire forgot to crackle. Not a coyote could howl nor raider curse. The world as Arcade knew it had finally stood still.

The stranger sighed.

With the same hand that wanted to kill Boone just seconds prior, he pushed back his oily mop of dark hair. "Back when I wasn’t a travelling vigilante, my name was Butch Deloria. Hers was Eve Washington. " Crooked teeth found his bottom lip. "We grew up in the same vault and hated every minute of it until her wackjob of a dad escaped. Sometime after that, she came back and rescued my ass from the anarchy it had turned into. Said that they needed back up for some science thing that turned out to be the key to creating clean water for the entire Wasteland." He paused. "Next thing I know, her dad is dead and she's being forced into a position no nineteen year old should be in. Everyone said that she was the key to wiping out the Enclave, a hero sent from heaven, their savior, and a ton of other brahmin shit that Eve wasn't. She just killed when they told her to. “ His voice hitched. " After being forced to obliterate an Enclave base with some kind of death ray, she finally cracked. Told me that she needed to forget everything that happened and left without ever looking back.”

“Then why look for her?” There was a bite to Boone’s voice.

Butch’s eyes found a faraway place, one Arcade knew existed no longer just by the way he shook his head. “Eve’s the only remnant of home that I’ve got left. I don’t care if she kills me on sight or hires people to do it for her. Hell, I’d be happy with a gravesite by now if it meant I knew an ounce what happened in the past nine years.” With shaking fingers, he fished through his pants pocket for a few moments before producing a picture. “In the five years I’ve been on the road, nobody’s recognized this girl. Can’t hurt to try, though.” He handed it to Arcade.

The stranger’s fingertips were calloused but held the photograph as delicate as Julie held her surgical equipment. Carefully, he turned it over.

He blinked.

It was cracked and blurry in some spots, but the subjects were clear as day. A father and his daughter were caught in each other’s embrace, their gazes forever resting on the eyes of their loved ones. They both had guns holstered to their belts but, in that single moment, it seemed that they were at peace. Though hollow and wrinkled, their grime covered faces radiated a happiness Arcade saw only on the rarest occaision. It was beautiful.

But that wasn’t what made him drop it.

Or take in a struggling breath that tore through his chest like a Cazadore’s stinger.

“Boone.” Arcade forced out, unaware of how loud he had been over his own echoing heartbeat. “Her name is Eve.” He didn’t see his friend shoot up or rush to his side, just her.

“Her name is Eve.” The sniper repeated, harsher than Arcade’s whisper but still uneasy.

“Yes, her name is Eve.” The stranger’s pitch rose. “What’s the big deal?”

Green eyes met blue.

“She’s been looking for you.”

Butch blinked. His olive skin paled. “You know-“ He looked up at Boone, whose actions were beyond Arcade’s perception. “-her?” A leather-clad arm reached over his shoulder. When his hand returned to view, another picture was in his hand. Its back was cleaner, whiter than the one Butch had given them.

“Yes.” Like the fire beside them, Boone’s presence had become powerful but restrained. There was passion, but it was controlled into a form that he could help with. “She’s the reason we were out here in the first place.”

The same fingertips that had brushed against Arcade’s hand danced across the newer picture. Butch’s eyes, once bright as a pulse grenade’s flash, were dull. “She’s happy?” He asked, though his mind clearly in a world other than their own.

Arcade peered up at Boone, who just shrugged as if to pass the question back to him. “As one can be in this Wasteland.” He wasn’t lying. All three of them had devoted the last two months to doctoring wounds that he thought would never heal, but asking Six to relax was like asking a rock to give blood. On days when the Dam had not debilitated her mind with grief, she planned out a post-Dam Mojave. Neither Boone nor Arcade argued except when she sacrificed her own well-being for her work, then the former would usually intervene.  “If you’re planning on sweeping this woman off her feet, however-“

At that, Butch returned to the real world. His chest shuddered with a small, slight bought of nervous laughter. “Never saw her that way.” Eyes rolled to the sky and back to the picture in his palm. “Good to know that she’s found someone that does, though.”

For a second, Arcade thought his heart was finally giving up on him. It had slowed, barely recognizable over the layer of peace that had blanketed the trio. He sighed.

Butch diverted his attention from the picture to the calm, blood stained doctor relaxing before him. “What?”

“She lives four hours east of here.” Arcade hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s plenty of time for Boone and I to hold up our end of the deal, but only if you’re willing to lend me a change of clothes that looks a bit less menacing.”

Like a child at Christmas, Butch’s eyes opened so wide that they resembled poker chips. “I’ve got ya covered.” The trench he had been wearing just seconds before now lay in the dust. “Don’t need that anymore.” He said, digging through a sack hanging off of his pack Brahmin. “Haven’t been near water in a week and like Hell am I going to give someone like you some sweaty ass-“ A dingy white t-shirt like the one he was wearing landed atop the duster amidst his rambling. “-pants.”

“Like me?”

Butch’s glare was balanced out a smirk. “Yes, like you.” He said, arms still buried deep within the rucksack. “Now put those rags on before I have to come up with another reason not to stare.”

Arcade Gannon did as he was told, ignoring the snort that came from the direction of his original companion as well as the churning of gears in his mind that was growing progressively louder with every sec-

“Wait.” He paused just before the duster could cover his shoulders. “Did you say that Six _wanted_ to forget?”

Butch grunted in agreement.

His blood ran cold. A piece of his friend’s puzzle had clicked in a place that he didn’t even know could fit it. “Of course.” The words fell from his mouth like dead leaves from a tree, soft but overdue. “Six had at least seven, maybe eight years to forget everything that happened with you and her father.” Arcade pulled the coat over his shoulders. “The bullet about killed her recent memory of the Mojave and her decision to forget everything from your Wasteland, but the fact that she remembers bits and pieces of everything befo-“

“-means that those memories weren’t affected by it.” Butch pulled on the article he had been looking for, a black leather jacket that looked about a size too small. “Which is why I’m wearing the only thing I have left from the vault.” He straightened his back, allowing both men to have a better look at its serpentine logo. “I lead a gang back then. We terrorized anyone who crossed our paths until Eve and her dad left.” A small chuckle dotted the silent Wasteland. “Didn’t stop her from wasting time that she could have spent escaping to convince me to save my mom from a few radroaches, though.”  

Boone stood, taking his rucksack with him. “Sounds like Six, alright.” He said. “Could kill you in five seconds with a baseball bat but, if she could get away with diplomacy, she’d always choose that route.”

“If I wasn’t so afraid of that gun strapped to your back, I’d hug you.” A small cloud of dust formed at his heels as he fidgeted. “I just can’t believe that she’s safe and sound.”

Safe and sound. The words were like keys to a vault Arcade had tried to keep closed since the Dam. “You say that like you think it’s been easy for us.” He said, grimacing at the visuals that swam through his head. Blood, no different than what stained his clothes and skin, trickled through his history with her. Screams could still be heard as clear as the present day. “It hasn’t.”

Childlike excitement turned to mature sympathy. “Four hours ain’t gonna scratch the surface of what you guys have gone through, I know that.” Butch took his brahmin’s lead in one hand and held out the photograph Boone had given him with the other. “But just giving me the chance to see her is enough to put me in your debt.”

Arcade took it. “That makes two of us.” He turned it over, expecting to see Six alone.

She was not.

He gave it back to Boone, who nodded. “Let’s go.”

The fire they left continued to burn until its fuel became ashes and ashes became dust, swirling up into the sky like a cloud being born.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to work out the structure of this series. Identity, as of this moment, is the prologue to the multichaptered Found. It makes sense to me, since Identity establishes Six/Eve's amnesia as well as her relationship with Arcade.

For the first few miles of their journey back, talk was simple. Butch would ask something basic, such as how much of Six’s body was still intact, and they would answer as best they could. To Arcade, it was like asking a patient about her medical history, but facts were easier to process before reality could finally set in. Six was alive. All of her limbs were still attached. Many scars, at least half of which either of the two men could identify the cause of, decorated her body.

  
“Has her aim improved at all?” His questions had become more sporadic since he started to pick at his teeth with, of all things, a switchblade. “I mean, I can barely handle a pistol without shooting myself in the foot, but Eve-“

  
“-once killed a raider by bludgeoning him to death with the butt of an unloaded rifle.” Boone added. “If it can’t smash, slice, or explode, Six doesn’t know what to do with it.”  
The way Butch threw back his head to let out a few, short laughs was one of the main reasons why Arcade hoped he’d stick around after everything was said and done. Though his exterior was as worn as any prospector’s, it was only skin deep. Beneath the leather his skin had become was a heart that still beat as fast as a child’s on his birthday.

  
“Okay, I’m done with questions.” Butch said “Before we get into the whole ‘Eve managed to fuck over two of the largest modern empires that I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet’ thing, let me get a few things straight.” He jabbed the space by the sniper’s head with the tip of his blade.“You used to snipe for the overgrown mass of tan known as the NCR and you-“ Arcade flinched as the younger man did the same just inches away from his own ear. “-are a doctor who used to be a member of the Enclave and, from your lack of resistance to abject flirtation, into men.”

  
Said doctor rolled his eyes. “In terms of importance, I wouldn’t consider my sexuality in anyway comparable to both my profession and history with a terrorist organization.” He sighed. “But you would be correct on all counts.”

  
Ignoring an audible groan from Boone’s general direction, Butch clapped Arcade on the shoulder. “Just an observation, doc. A nice observation, I’ll admit, but you could be interested in mirelurks and I wouldn’t care.” He said. “All that matters right now is that you guys found the only person from my childhood that hasn’t gone insane.”

  
“She found us, actually.” Boone stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Did me a favor that only a stranger could and then had the nerve to ask me if I’d help her find a man in a checkered suit. Had nothing left to come back to except the past, so I agreed and that’s-“ He looked up as if the rest of his thoughts could be read in the brightening sky. “- that’s all you need to know. I left Novac with just my weapons, the clothes on my back, and enough blood on my hands to fill Lake Meade. Haven’t looked back since.”

  
Butch’s arm fell from Arcade’s shoulder like a damp rag. Within the seconds of Boone ending his explanation, his expression had regressed into that of a man who had seen too much. “Y’know, I’ve met enough people in my lifetime to know that there are two types in this world: those who will talk your ear off and those who won’t.” He shrugged. “Those who will are going to serve you everything you need to know on a silver platter. Those who won’t, even if they know the same thing as those who will, are a challenge.” Tanned fingers stroked his jacket sleeve as if digging up a memory embedded within its wrinkles. “The latter used to frustrate Eve to the point of banging her head against the nearest hard surface, hypocrite that she was.” He kicked at a stray chunk of gravel, which only rolled a few feet in front of them.

  
Before he could stop himself, Arcade had paced forward to kick it again. “She still is.” He watched it fly a few meters into the sunrise before crashing back down. “I, on the other hand, probably fit in the first category now that my history with the Enclave isn’t as much of a secret as it once was.” Arcade took a swig of water from his canteen. This was going to be a mouthful. “My story doesn’t carry as much weight as his, but it’s the reason I’m here.”  
“Let’s hear it, then.”

* * *

  
Whether out of paranoia or curiosity, Arcade made a point of noticing everyone who passed through the Fort’s creaking main doors. The gap between the canvas curtains that separated him from the rest of humanity was just enough to spy through without being caught and his lab work was never too intensive to make use of all his focus. Julie had caught on, of course, but a weather eye on the horizon wasn’t something to complain about.

  
He had seen Six walk in early that morning. In the early morning light, she looked to be no older than twenty. The way she tried to hide her skeletal beneath the hood of a Brahmin-skin jacket that was five sizes too big was something Arcade had seen before, but could make no judgments from. Girls came to the Fort for a variety of reasons, most of which involved abuse. The strange woman said something Arcade could not hear. With a gloved hand, she pulled her hood down to reveal a mass of tangled blonde hair. What was that look in her eyes? Curiosity? Wonder? The Mojave had about erased those emotions from existence.

Eventually, she caught the attention of Julie. Though her voice was unintelligible over the din of his lab equipment and the Mojave’s nasty habit of creating wind storms at inopportune times, Arcade did manage to pick out its higher than average pitch. At one point, he could have sworn she had grinned. This was followed by a somewhat genuine burst of laughter from his boss, a rarity. Wait, was she giving Julie supplies from her own sack? Arcade didn’t have time to question it before the pair walked out of sight.

  
He didn’t see her again until the sun sat in the middle of the sky.

  
“Before you go, let me introduce you to our researcher, Arcade Gannon.” Julie said, pulling back the curtain.

  
Arcade had underestimated this woman’s maturity. In the dim light of his alcove, he could see the white creases that radiated across the upper left quadrant of her face from a lump of scar tissue. “Nice to meet you, doctor.” When she spoke, only the right side of her face moved the way she had probably intended. The left still expressed, but not to the extent of the right. “I’m Six.”

  
“Likewise.” He said, trying not to stare at the damage done. “You must be a saint if Julie was willing to give you a tour.”

  
Six shrugged. “Not really, just new to the area. I don’t recall ever seeing an organized hospital like this and got curious. Then again, I don’t recall much on account of a couple bullets that someone decided to shove through my skull.” She prodded the area in question and winced. “I also had some extra Fixer that I looted from a raider’s corpse.”

  
“RadAway, too.” Julie added. “Speaking of radicals, by the way, did you hear about what happened at the Tops last night?”

  
“Besides the usual wasting of caps?” He leaned back in his chair. “Not a word.”

  
His boss crossed her arms. A delighted smirk spread across her face. “Benny, the Chairmen’s leader, was ambushed in his room.” She said, almost laughing. “No one’s being held responsible, either.”

  
Within seconds of Benny’s name being mentioned, all the color in Six’s face was gone. “Huh.”

  
Julie blinked. “Are you okay?”

  
“Yeah, yeah.” Six shoved her hands into her pockets. “Just shocked that someone with that much power could be offed that easily.” Crooked teeth found a cracked lower lip.

  
Any pleasure that Julie had once expressed was replaced by an expression similar to Six’s own. Her eyes widened. “You did it, didn’t you?” She asked. “You killed Benny Gecko?”

  
Fear morphed into anger. “He wanted to take the Strip for himself and the only way to do it was to intercept a package that I was delivering to Mr. House.” Six prodded her disfigurement again. “I lost most of my memories to the bullets he embedded in my brain.” There was a fire in her eyes that Arcade would learn to love but, in that moment, she looked like a maniac.

  
“So you killed him.” He shook his head. “Makes perfect sense.”

  
“As if that was the only reason.” Six moved her hands from her pockets to her hips. “Anyone who is willing to kill an innocent party to obtain power is obviously not worthy of said power.”

  
The room fell silent. What Six had just said was not something that could have come from a youth. Even then, Arcade had only met a few older men and women in his life that were observant enough to make those judgments and all of them were former members of the Enclave. This woman was probably in her twenties and, whether she remembered it or not, had witnessed things no man should.

  
Before he could stop himself, Arcade opened his mouth. “House isn’t much better of an option.” He said, ignoring Julie’s glare.

  
“I know.” Six said. “Benny has an AI that was going to help him out but, since he’s dead, it’s willing to listen to me as long as I take House out of the picture.” She let out an exhausted sigh. “I could say that it’s easier said than done, but-“

  
“No, I think I understand.” Arcade closed his eyes. In his head, this news had more potential than anything he had heard in months. “Before you came along, New Vegas had three options and none of them boded well for Freeside. Call me desperate, but a fourth option where an ordinary woman with no prior experience with power sounds fantastic in comparison with what we’ve got.”

  
Six’s stern expression softened. “Doctor Farkas, may I have a moment alone?”

  
“There’s always patients to attend to, so yes.” And she was gone.

  
A small, crooked smile crept upon Six’s face as she leaned against the wall opposite Arcade. “You seem more interested in my situation than the cactus on your desk.” She said. “Benny didn’t take away my ability to clean up a wound or make stimpaks out of broc flowers and xander roots, but a professional couldn’t hurt.” She shifted her weight. “Can you defend yourself?”

  
“You’re assuming I’m actually interested.”

  
“Can’t assume what I already know.” Blue eyes found green. “You want to make a difference, but can’t do enough from this office. I want to make a difference, but I’m just an amnesiac with too much luck for her own good. I already have a sniper and a boxer following me, so combat prow-“

  
“My family was nomadic for ten years of my life.” Arcade stood. “I know how to defend things that I have a stake in. As long as you don’t join forces with the man across the river, I’m willing to help you change this wasteland.”

* * *

 

“Passionate to a damn fault.” Butch said, punctuating himself with another kick to the deteriorating chunk of gravel. “Y’know, I used to joke about how she would have been perfect for the Tunnel Snakes because of her tendency to have tunnel vision. Don’t know whether I should be glad knowing that it hasn’t changed.”

  
Arcade kicked it again. “She’s done a lot of good for the Wasteland because of it.” He said. “I’d be proud.”

  
The younger man slowed to a shuffle. “I guess, but there’s one thing I don’t get about this.” Butch rubbed the back of his neck. “Boone here is the sniper and you’re, well, you, but who’s the boxer you mentioned?”

  
Such a simple question with a simple answer, yet it took the wind from Arcade’s lungs. Black clouded his mind as memories of what should have never happened faded in and out of his consciousness. He stopped.

  
“Veronica.” Even Boone’s stoicism couldn’t hide it. “Her name was Veronica.”

  
They left the lump behind.


End file.
